Mysteries of Holt House - A Mystery

by Marja McGraw

  We sat down and only waited a few minutes before the auctioneer called for attention. First he auctioned off the smaller items. Sharon bought a collection of miniature tea cups and saucers, a couple of figurines and a set of bone china, mentioning that she didn’t really need the china but liked the pattern.

  “I didn’t realize auctioneers really talk that fast,” I whispered. “I thought that was a joke. I’m not sure if I can keep up with things. I may need your help me when the painting comes up.”

  “Sure.” Sharon pulled her wallet out of her purse, checking to see how much cash she’d brought with her.

  I glanced around and noticed again that there hadn’t been a very good turnout for the auction. I wouldn’t have much competition when the bidding on the furniture began. My attention was brought back when I heard the auctioneer describing the painting of Mrs. Holt. He kept glancing at me.

  “I want that painting,” I whispered.

  “I know, I know.”

  “We’ll start the bidding at fifty dollars. Do I hear fifty dollars?” The auctioneer kept his eyes on me.

  I raised my hand.

  “Fifty dollars, fifty dollars. Do I hear seventy-five?”

  Someone in the back raised their hand.

  “Seventy-five, seventy-five, seventy-five. Do I hear one hundred?”

  I raised my hand again. I was surprised to find that I could actually understand the man.

  “I have one hundred dollars. Let’s hear one hundred fifty. One-fifty, one-fifty, do I hear one-fifty?”

  The person in the back raised their hand again. Sharon twisted around and looked over her shoulder to see who was bidding against me.

  “It’s the lady with the little girl,” she whispered.

  “Okay,” the auctioneer said. “It’s one hundred fifty dollars. Do I hear two hundred? Two hundred, two hundred, two hundred.” His attitude and face told me he hadn’t expected to get much for the painting. I raised my hand with determination.

  “I’ve got two hundred dollars. How about two-fifty? Do I hear two hundred fifty?” It had become quiet, and he was speaking slower now. “How about two-fifty? Do I hear two hundred fifty dollars?”

  “Aw, come on.” A man in the back spoke loudly. “Let her have it.”

  I waited, but the woman didn’t raise her hand.

  “Sold! To the lady in the painting.” The auctioneer smiled.

  I felt my face turn warm and knew I was blushing. There were a few laughs and snickers in the audience.

  There were more paintings auctioned off. I bought a few of them, and then the furniture came up. The competitiveness of the auction caused a type of excitement I’d never felt before. I could understand how people might get carried away and buy things they didn’t really need or want. I had the feeling that bidding at an auction could be addictive.

  I turned to Sharon. “This is great. A person could really get hooked on this auction thing.”

  “It is kind of fun, isn’t it.” Sharon threw her hand in the air and waved it, bidding on a lamp.

  I bought most of the furniture. There were a few disgruntled people in the crowd, a few of them antique dealers, but I didn’t care. I knew what I wanted to do and I was happy. I collected my paintings and approached the auctioneer to see if Sharon and I could talk him into giving us a tour of the house.

  “My friend and I wondered if we could explore the house while we’re out here,” I said, when I got his attention.

  “Not today, young lady.” At thirty-two, it was kind of nice to hear him call me a young lady.

  “Well, when can we see it?” I persisted.

  “It’ll be shown by appointment next week from what I understand. Now back to business. When do you want to pick up the furniture?”

  “Would it be possible to store it inside the house for the time being?” I asked.

  He looked thoughtful. “Well, I suppose so. Maybe the house will show better with the furniture in it.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be in touch with you about it next week.”

  I grabbed Sharon’s arm and dragged her off before he could change his mind.

  “I just don’t understand what you’re doing,” Sharon said.

  “I’m not totally sure myself, but I’ll tell you what I’m thinking, and don’t try to talk me out of it.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Maybe.”

  “I won a lot of money, but it’s not going to last forever, so I’ve got to make it work for me.”

  I paused, trying to put my thoughts in order.

  “Now I know that the most common advice I get is to invest in real estate or mutual funds. I don’t know anything about mutual funds, so turn around and look at that house. It has a lot of bedrooms, and it’s also got a lot of character and history. On a small scale, I could turn it into a boarding house. A lot of people work in the larger cities around here, but they still want to live in the country. They wouldn’t have to commute as far since this house is so close to the five points of the Cross Roads.

  “On a larger scale,” I continued, “I could turn it into a sort of resort or vacation spot, maybe a Bed & Breakfast type thing – a place to get away from it all. And it’s not that far from skiing in the winter and lakes in the summer – which, of course, leads to the reason I wanted the furniture. I’d need a lot of furniture to fill this place, and the pieces I bought will fit the style of the house.”

  I was on a roll.

  “On top of all that, the house appears to be in good condition. I probably wouldn’t have to put out a lot of money for repairs. When I talked to the auctioneer, he said that someone has been keeping the repairs done on the house for quite some time. No one knows who’s been doing the work though, or why.”

  “I told you this place was spooky,” Sharon said, wrapping her arms around herself. “Did I mention I felt like I was being watched while I was looking at things on the front porch? I’m sure I saw the drapes move.”

  “Hush. That was your imagination working overtime. Anyway, the house is being auctioned off for back taxes. It’s been vacant for years. Apparently, somehow it slipped through the cracks or it would have been sold a long time ago.”

  “It sounds like a lot to take on,” Sharon said, “especially for someone with very little business experience. That’s not an insult, just a fact. Are you sure you really want to do this? I’d think it over long and hard if I were you.”

  “I will, but I have to tell you I’ve got a good feeling about it. Somehow it feels like the right thing to do.”

  “There’s a lady bug on your sleeve,” Sharon said, pointing at my arm.

  “See? Lady bugs are good luck. It must be a sign.”

  “Sign my foot,” she said. “Lady bugs are just crawly little bugs.”

  “You know, Sharon, I think it must be fate that we came out here today and found that portrait. I mean, fate must have led us here.”

  “Oh, brother,” she said under her breath.

  “I heard that.”

  Glancing over my shoulder in the direction of the house, I had the strangest feeling I was being watched, too, but I didn’t see anyone looking our way, and I didn’t see the drapes move. Sharon didn’t seem to notice and I didn’t dwell on it or call it to her attention. I didn’t want to spook her or confirm what she’d felt earlier.

  We loaded our purchases into the car and drove back to town. On the way home I asked Sharon if she wanted to come to my place for dinner.

  “Sure, but I want to drop my things off at home first. I’ll drive over after I put everything away.”

  I dropped her off at her place and returned to my apartment.

  Sharon showed up about an hour later. I’d just put a casserole in the oven, so we sat down on the couch and discussed my idea while we waited.

  “It has some merit,” Sharon said grudgingly, “although not much in my opinion. I hope you really are going to give this more thought.”

  “Sharon, I don’t want to go back to work at the law firm.
This way I’d have a continuing income and I’d have plenty to keep me busy just keeping the place running and the guests happy.”

  “I don’t know about this, Kelly,” she said, hesitantly.

  “You know, if it turns out to be a thriving venture, maybe you could quit your job and come work with me. I can’t do it all alone.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “No. I mean it. We could have a lot of fun running our own business. I figure you could be sort of a partner.”

  The timer on the oven buzzed so I excused myself while I took the casserole out of the oven.

  “There’s one drawback,” I yelled from the kitchen.

  “What’s that?” Sharon walked in and began setting the table while I prepared a salad.

  “This project is going to take a huge chunk out of the money I’ve got left. There will be enough for things I’ll probably want to do to the house, and then maybe enough to keep me going for six months or so. So it’s got to work or I’m back to square one, only I’ll be the owner of a very large, very quiet home.”

  “You’ve got to be out of your mind!” Sharon paused, looking first thoughtful and then resigned. “Oh, well, they say you’ve got to spend money to make money.”

  “Yeah. If I fail, I just go back to a regular job.”

  The idea of going back to work made my stomach churn and my heart pound.

  Chapter Three

  Over the next few days I spent every spare moment working out the details. It looked good, at least on paper. I knew I could afford the house, although I’d have to be careful, but I had plans to make. I’d have to hire help, I knew I’d want to make some additions and minor changes to the house, and this was the most important part, I had to find people who wanted to live out in the country. I called and made an appointment to see the house and asked Sharon to go with me.

  On Wednesday, Sharon left work a few hours early and drove to my apartment. While I waited for her, I got out the portrait of Mrs. Holt and leaned it against the wall. The painting was the one item I’d brought home with me. I was studying it when there was a knock on the door.

  “Come in,” I called.

  “Admiring yourself?” Sharon sat down on the couch next to me.

  “It’s amazing, isn’t it? I just can’t believe we look so much alike. I’d like to find out more about her if I can.”

  “Well, unless you find someone who knew her, you’re going to have a problem. It appears she and her husband were very reclusive.”

  “I know. I wonder if that housekeeper is still around. There must be someone who knows what her name is and what became of her.”

  “You’d think so, wouldn’t you?”

  We turned and looked at the portrait. Mrs. Holt had been painted in subdued lighting. She was wearing a dark blue velvet dress, which accentuated her deep blue eyes. The dress had a sloping neckline, was slightly off the shoulders, and she wore a diamond necklace with matching earrings. Her dark blonde hair was long and hung in soft curls around her face and shoulders. It had been fluffed just enough around her face so the earrings could be seen. The sleeves of the dress were long and billowy, and her delicate hands rested in her lap with a blood-red rose gently clasped in her fingers. She wore little or no make-up, and appeared to have a flawless complexion. She looked like she was probably around thirty-five or so when the portrait was painted.

  She had a very relaxed half-smile on her face, and her eyes sparkled while she appeared to gaze at someone. I couldn’t see any hint of insanity, but then the stories I’d heard were merely rumors and legends, and I was only looking at a painting.

  I leaned forward and read the signature on the painting. It simply said “Holt”. It must have been either a self-portrait or her husband had been an artist. I couldn’t quite believe that it had been a self-portrait.

  I stood, ready to take another trip to Holt House. “We’d better get going. I don’t want to miss my appointment to see the house.”

  We drove out to Holt House but the agent hadn’t arrived yet, so we strolled around the house and tried to peek in the windows. The drapes were still drawn so we couldn’t see anything.

  While we waited for the agent to arrive, we took a walk out to the garden. It was lovely, and obviously a lot of care had gone into it. There was a simple maze of walkways, each one leading to a large central area. I had a feeling there must have been plans to build something in the center, but it had never been done.

  We took one path which led us past ground cover, and close by were masses of lavender flowers with a bluish-green foliage. This path ran around the outer edges of the garden.

  We followed a path leading to and from the bare center of the maze. On one side of the path we saw stately looking rose bushes, all blooming with blood-red flowers. I couldn’t help but wonder if the rose in Mrs. Holt’s portrait came from one of these bushes. Everywhere we looked we were awestruck by the profusion of color. I glanced up at the mountain range and sighed.

  An idea began to take shape in my mind while we sat on a garden bench, waiting for the agent, an idea about what to do with the vacant center of the garden. I’d have to mull it over before I made a decision.

  About ten minutes passed before I heard a car coming. We walked out to the front of the house to meet the agent.

  “Good afternoon, ladies. I’m Jasper Morris. Call me Jasper. Which one of you is Miss Sanders?” He pried his bulky frame out of his car.

  “I am,” I replied, trying not to stare, “and you can call me Kelly. This is my friend, Sharon.” I pointed in Sharon’s general direction.

  Jasper had trouble walking because he carried so much extra weight. He was about five feet eight inches and had to weigh at least three hundred fifty pounds. He was having trouble breathing as we strolled toward the house.

  I found myself forgetting about his weight while we chatted. He was a pleasant man with an engaging personality. The three of us talked while we gazed around the grounds. He thought we should start on the outside and work our way into the house.

  “You’ll like the garden,” he said.

  “I love it,” I said. “We had a chance to look around while we were waiting for you. By the way, who’s been doing the gardening?”

  “I really can’t tell you,” he replied. “That’s one of the many mysteries about this place. Someone has been keeping the house and grounds up for the past several years, but no one has any idea who it is. No one has come forward and made a claim on the estate, and the monetary portion of the estate ran out about a year ago. The taxes being in arrears, the property has to be sold.”

  “Interesting,” I said thoughtfully.

  “I think it’s kind of strange myself,” Sharon said. “Why would anyone go to all that trouble and work and not get something in return? It doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.”

  “I’ll tell you what I think is interesting,” Jasper said, looking at me, “your resemblance to Mrs. Holt. Add that to the fact that you want the house, and you’ve really got interesting.”

  “Kind of weird, isn’t it,” I said, laughing.

  I proceeded to tell him what my plans were for the house, probably going into more detail than he wanted to hear.

  “It does have possibilities.” His words were encouraging, but his expression said volumes about how naïve he thought I might be.

  “I honestly think it can work.” I was becoming more determined by the moment.

  “Well, come on and I’ll show you the inside of the house. My men arranged the furniture for you, so you can get a good idea of how it will look if you buy the house. You realize, of course, that the house will be auctioned off just like the contents were, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I understand that. Have many other people shown an interest?”

  “Actually, you’re the only one who’s shown any interest at all so far,” he replied with a sheepish grin. “This place is so far out of town, and it’s too big for most people’s needs.”

  “Good!”
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  “Well, that ought to keep the price down anyway.” Sharon grinned.

  “Come on, ladies,” Jasper said, chuckling. “Here’s a little something you probably don’t know.” He unlocked the front door. “Most of the furniture you purchased is as original as the house. When the Holts bought the place, the furniture came with it. Mrs. Holt had the furniture restored because it was so perfect. She liked the way everything worked together.”

  “I can understand,” I said, looking around, “but how do you know how she felt?”

  “It’s in her books,” he explained, as if I knew what he was talking about.

  “Books?”

  “Oh, yes. She kept records of all of the household transactions. Just about everything that took place around this house is recorded, along with some of her comments.”

  “Good. Do the books come with the house?”

  “Probably, but I’ll have to check and let you know for sure. I wouldn’t think the historical groups or anyone else will want them.”

  “I heard the Holts were killed in an auto accident on their way to town.” Sharon was fishing for information – I could hear it in her voice. “I heard, among other things, that Mrs. Holt fell down the stairs or something and hurt herself. Supposedly her husband was driving her into town to the hospital when she went berserk and grabbed the steering wheel, forcing the car off the road.

  “They hit a tree by the side of the road,” she continued, “and by the time someone finally came along and found them, she was already dead and he was dying. It’s said he told the passerby what happened, and then he died, too.”

  “Where did you hear that?” I asked.

  “I’ve been asking questions around town,” Sharon replied.

  “I guess you have.”

  “Well, you heard right,” Jasper said.

  Chapter Four

  June 16, 1989 was a warm day. Amelia and George Holt finished eating their lunch and moved to the living room to relax. They’d worked in the garden all morning. It was the housekeeper’s day off.

  “George, do you think they’ll find him? It’s been almost a month since he disappeared.” Amelia sounded nervous.